


Dogfish

by voidfoxstarlight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ADHD Jonathan Sims, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Jonathan Sims, Autistic Michael Crew, Canon Asexual Character, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Season/Series 04, i dont actually plan to finish this so uhhh be warned for that i suppose, if you think im going to use the new tags for jonathan sims you are WRONG. i dont like them., this is just a self-indulgent sandbox i wanted to play in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidfoxstarlight/pseuds/voidfoxstarlight
Summary: “Why do you need a shovel?”Jon stares at his hands and giggles quietly, if a bit hysterically. “I’m going to dig up a grave.”Martin’s surprised he doesn’t crash the car. “Jon—”“Please don’t,” Jon interrupts. “Just… please.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Michael "Mike" Crew, Martin Blackwood/Michael "Mike" Crew/Jonathan Sims, Michael "Mike" Crew/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 25
Kudos: 211





	1. Martin

**Author's Note:**

> Replying to comments is kind of draining for me so I probably won't respond to all of them, but if you do comment, know that I see it and appreciate it!

When Jon shows up at his flat at three in the morning, crying and hyperventilating, it’s all Martin can do not to bundle him into a hug and hold him until he calms down. As it is, he has to settle for toning down the disdain he’s pretended to hold towards other people since he made up his mind to trick Peter.

“Jon? What are you doing here? It’s three in the morning.”

“Yes, I—I’m sorry, I—I didn’t want to bo-bother you, but I ca-an’t—” His quick, shallow breaths cut him off and what comes after is unintelligible.

“No, stop, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Martin opens his door wider and gestures for Jon to come in. Jon obeys, barely looking shocked at all. Martin steers him towards the couch and tells him to stay there.

Martin finds a bottled water in the fridge and returns to the living room. Jon’s elbows are on his knees and his hands are clenched tightly in his hair, and he is rocking back and forth. He doesn’t look up when Martin stands in front of him.

“Jon? I got you some water.”

Jon releases his hands from his hair and holds them out. Martin hands him the water bottle. It’s a good thing he decided to go for the bottle instead of a glass; Jon’s hands are shaking so badly he probably would have just spilled the glass. He still dribbles some down his chin, but he wipes it away with his shirt sleeve. 

Martin waits for him to finish the bottle to say, “Better?”

His breathing has evened out, but he exhales deeply before he nods. His tears are beginning to dry on his face, and he wipes those away with his shirt sleeve, too.

Martin wants nothing more than to gently clean his face with a warm washcloth, but he can’t. “Alright. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

When he speaks, his voice is rough. “I… I need a ride.”

“I can’t. Ask someone else.”

Jon flinches. “I can’t. I—they won’t.”

“Who did you ask?”

“Um. Georgie. Basira.”

“That’s it?”

“M-Melanie would sooner kill me. Elias is in jail. Daisy is—Daisy is dead. I d-don’t know anyone else.”

Jon’s lower lip trembles and he bites it like that will make it stop.

Martin sighs heavily and stares at the ceiling. That reaction, at least, is not faked. Doing this could very easily tip Peter off that he’s not as committed to the Lonely as he “should” be, but if this drove Jon to his flat, and in such a state, it’s obviously important.

“You can’t take the tube?”

Jon shakes his head.

Martin sighs again. “Alright.”

Jon stares at him uncomprehendingly. “Al-alright?”

Martin gestures for him to stand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Oh!” Jon stands quickly as Martin grabs his keys and wallet, then silently follows Martin out to his car.

“So? Where are we going?” Martin asks, his fingers poised to type an address into Google Maps.

“Ah… I don’t think a GPS will be able to find it. I can give you directions.”

Martin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

A few minutes into the drive, Jon lets out a soft, “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I forgot to bring a shovel.”

Martin actually turns his head to look at him before quickly looking back at the road. “Why do you need a shovel?”

Jon stares at his hands and giggles quietly, if a bit hysterically. “I’m going to dig up a grave.”

Martin’s surprised he doesn’t crash the car. “Jon—”

“Please don’t,” Jon interrupts. “Just… please.”

Martin grips the steering wheel tightly and doesn’t say a word.

“Turn left here,” Jon says after a few minutes. “No—Martin, I said _left_.”

“I know.”

“Then what—”

Martin pulls into the parking lot of a supercentre and parks the car. “Wait here.”

“But—”

Martin leaves the key in the ignition and gets out of the car. When he returns a few minutes later, he has two shovels that he puts in the back seat. 

Jon stares at him.

“You’re not going to dig up a grave with your bare hands.”

“Right,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive is long. Jon says, “We have to walk from here,” so they park the car, grab the shovels, and walk into the woods.

Jon stops and Martin almost walks into him.

“We’re here,” he says, staring at the ground under his feet. There’s nothing there to indicate it’s a grave—no headstone, no freshly turned earth—but there’s no mistaking the certainty in Jon’s voice.

They start digging. Neither Jon nor Martin are fit for this kind of work, and by the time the sky begins to lighten, their palms are raw and red.

“Jon,” Martin says, “I don’t think there’s anything here.”

Jon stops digging, but he doesn’t look up. “I…”

“We’ve been digging for _hours_.”

“Martin, I _know_ he’s here. He’s in _agony_ , I can’t just—it’s my fault he’s here in the first place. I have to find him and get him out.”

“Him? Who are you talki—”

The ground shudders ever so slightly, and Martin’s mouth snaps shut.

“Oh my g-d,” Jon says, and he drops to his knees and scrabbles at the dirt with his fingers.

Martin is suddenly _very_ apprehensive that something is about to go wrong.

“Jon—”

A few fingers break through the surface of the dirt.

“Holy _shit_ ,” says Martin.

“Martin, help me,” Jon orders.

Martin gets down on his knees and starts digging again.

The arm attached to the hand thrusts out of the dirt, quickly followed by a second arm, and soon enough Jon’s wiping dirt off of a gasping face.

“Mike! Mike, it’s—it’s Jon, it’s Jonathan Sims. Hold on, I have to—” Jon drags a gasping, spluttering Michael Crew out of the ground, dirt cascading from his skin and hair.

Martin drags himself out of the grave—it’s a bit crowded for three people.

Mike makes weak flapping motions with his hands. He leans forward, still making those awful sputtering noises, and dirt falls from his mouth. Jon pounds his back as gently as he can, and even more clumps of dirt fall to the bottom of the grave.

Once it seems Mike's expelled all the dirt he can, Jon says, “Martin, help me get him out.” Jon gently moves one of Mike’s arms over his shoulder to support him. “Mike, I’m going to help you stand, and Martin’s going to pull you out.”

Jon helps Mike upright. Martin kneels at the edge of the grave, loops his arms under Mike’s armpits and heaves up and back. He drags Mike out more than lifts him, but what matters is that he’s out. 

He drags Jon out next, stubbornly ignoring the fact that this is the closest they’ve been physically since they hugged before the Unknowing.

Mike is on his hands and knees, head hanging down, looking like he’s trying not to collapse.

“Okay, let’s get him in the car,” Martin says.

Jon helps Mike into the backseat of the car and climbs in after him, leaving Martin to get in the front by himself. Probably better like that, anyway.

Mike stubbornly refuses to put on his seatbelt, though he doesn’t say a word or—as far as Martin knows, at least—use his powers. 

“Your flat is too far out of the way,” Martin tells Jon, even though it really isn’t. “I can either drop you off at the Institute or at my flat, but you can’t stay at mine.”

There’s a whirring sound and the sudden rush of wind from the backseat. Martin peaks in the rearview mirror to see Mike has rolled down the window. He’s looking up at the sky, but the angle is such that he can’t see Mike’s face.

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says. He goes silent, then says, more quietly, “Thank you, Martin.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not going to help you with something like this again, Jon. Don’t expect me to.”

Martin refuses to watch the mirror and see the way Jon shrinks back when he mumbles, “Of—of course. Sorry.”


	2. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are bulletpoints in this chapter but the formatting is weird and idk how to fix it?

Jon’s not sure how it managed to escape Martin’s notice that he’s been living at the Institute since he woke up, but he supposes it’s for the best. It’s easier this way, for Martin to drop him off there without needing to ask any strange questions. Not that Jon’s even sure he would, at this point. 

_Stop that,_ he tells himself. _Focus on the problem at hand_.

Mike is leaning on him heavily—months of being buried probably ruined his muscles. He’s also scowling up at the Institute, which at least means being buried hadn’t ruined his brain.

Jon catches another glimpse of what it was like down in the cool, unforgiving earth, and is reminded that it did actually ruin his brain a little bit. He grimaces and shakes the feeling off.

“I know you don’t want to be here, but I don’t have a flat anymore, and I don’t know if you can make it through the extra time it would take to get to your flat without eating something and getting some sleep.”

Mike scowls at the building some more but nods, which Jon supposes means he’s agreeing to go inside. The door opens without a key—Jon had forgotten to lock it before his mad rush to get to Martin’s flat.

They ride the elevator down to the basement so Mike doesn’t have to try his luck on the stairs. Jon drags a plastic chair into the shower room then helps Mike onto it.

“I assume you’ll want to do this yourself, so just—shout if you need help.”

Mike shakes his head.

“Er—no to what?”

Mike taps his lips and shakes his head again.

“Oh, you can’t talk?”

Mike gives him a thumbs up.

“Okay, um—oh!” Jon pulls out his phone. “If you need help, call this number.” He shows Mike the contact number and hands him the phone. “It’s the phone in my office. You don’t need to say anything when you call, I’ll know to come.”

While Mike showers, Jon sits in his office and makes a list of everything he needs to do.

  * _Explain to him how I knew_


  * _Give him a rundown of the supernatural side of the world_


  *     * _Unknowing stopped_


  *     * _Elias in jail_


  *     * _Peter Lukas is head of institute_


  * _Ask what he wants to do_


  *     * _Where to live_


  *     * _Wants to stay in contact?_


  *     * _Can he get rid of Peter Lukas_


  * _Convince him to get therapy_


  *     * _Definitely physical_


  *     * _Hopefully mental_


  *     * _How to pay?_



Jon chews on his pen and wracks his brain. He could put “ifs” on this list (“if he wants to go back to his flat, then—” “if he wants to stay in contact, then—”) but he usually puts those on their own, separate lists. Is it worth starting more lists already?

Jon’s part way through writing a third list when the phone on his desk rings. On reflex, he answers, “Magnus Institute, the Archives. Jonathan Sims speaking.” Then his brain kicks in and he realizes who’s calling. “Oh, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Jon helps Mike into his office and fetches some of his own pyjamas while Mike towels off.

“They might be a bit big,” Jon says, but Mike waves him off. They certainly _look_ too big. Jon may not be a big guy, but he’s got a good few inches on Mike, who looks a little like the pyjamas are swallowing him. He keeps plucking at the fabric, pulling it away from his body.

Jon sits down behind his desk, opposite Mike, and straightens his lists. “Alright. I’m sure you’re very confused as to, ah, everything that’s going on at the moment, but I can explain.”

Mike nods slightly and leans forward, propping his chin on one hand.

“Okay, so, ah, first things first. I’m a proper avatar of the Eye now, but I don’t have full control over my… powers, so sometimes I know things without wanting to. One of the things I Knew was that—”

Mike’s head flops down on the desk. He jerks upright again, a faintly bewildered look on his face and a red mark on his forehead.

“Oh, you must be so tired. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t even—here, there’s a cot—”

Jon helps Mike walk to the cot in Document Storage, where he promptly collapses. Mike shows no indication of properly settling in, so Jon arranges his limbs in what he hopes is a comfortable manner. Better than sprawled half off the cot, at any rate. 

He tries to cover Mike with a blanket, but Mike opens his eyes just enough to glare at Jon when he does so.

“That’s fine, then,” Jon murmurs, folding the blanket over his arm.

Mike closes his eyes again.

Jon stares at his unmoving form for a while before going back to his office to do… something. There’s not much his job really entails aside from reading statements, and that’s not something he wants to be doing at the moment. He’s also not too keen on sleeping at the moment, given the nightmares. He arranges and rearranges papers for something like five minutes before dropping his head in his hands.

He picks up Mike’s dirty clothes from where they lay crumpled on the floor. There’s a phone in one pocket and a pair of earbuds in the other. He folds the clothes and presses the power button on the phone. It flashes the dead battery symbol at him. It’s compatible with Jon’s charger, so Jon plugs it in and leaves it by the outlet.

Jon goes back to Document Storage. It’s where he usually sleeps, but he obviously can’t sleep on the cot right now. He settles for stealing cushions from the couches in the lobby and arranging them on the floor. He wraps the blanket around himself, takes one more look at Mike’s face, and flicks the light off.

**Author's Note:**

> You don't want to hear the story  
> of my life, and anyway  
> I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
> 
> to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
> 
> And anyway it's the same old story—  
> a few people just trying,  
> one way or another,  
> to survive.
> 
> Mostly, I want to be kind.  
> And nobody, of course, is kind,  
> or mean,  
> for a simple reason.
> 
> And nobody gets out of it, having to  
> swim through the fires to stay in  
> this world.
> 
> — _Dogfish_ , Mary Oliver


End file.
